


Charade

by mccafejeffery



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Andy is nurse kinda?, Blood and Gore, Guns, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Josh is his son, M/M, Revenge, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Tyler and Brendon have tension, frank is in a position of power, gerard is angry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-18 11:45:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16117754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mccafejeffery/pseuds/mccafejeffery
Summary: 21 takes on different identities, taking on other boys his age, bratty rich boys. All he knew was his family: 17, 19, his Superiors, and the grey walls of VESSEL. 21 becomes Tyler Joseph again and meets Joshua Iero.





	1. one

Raw.

His wrists were rubbed raw, iron cutting into the soft flesh. Blood filled the gap between rosy flesh and warmed up metal. The room was musty. Dust brushed against his bare feet, the soft particles rubbing at his padded feet. His arms were strained from being held over his head.

Darkness covered him and others in a thick, chilling blanket. Rough concrete created friction between the lint coated sweatshirt shielding him. His jeans were torn and dirtied. The hard ground he fell on god knows how long ago, had skinned his knees and elbows. It was rocky, tiny pebbles had clung to his skin at that event. The covered figures were silent, leather coated fingers holding him back as the rag was stuffed into his face. Their eyes were cold as he struggled to escape.

Choked up sobs came from his left, they were stuffy and pained. He and the others were hanging only centimeters above the ground.

His brain was hazy, clouded by a fog of chloroform. He could still feel the dirtied rag on his lips and bleeding nose, only a ghost now. He could only wonder how far apart the others were taken compared to him.

His body ached, groaning in pain. His nose and toes were numb from the icy atmosphere. The clink of the chains taunted him, as well as the sobs and whimpers. He swung his leg up, the length of iron above him shaking. He let out a breathy sigh.

A loud rattle of chains came from the far corner of the room, he thought it was more of a hall. A narrow room with chains.

He was fucked.

A string of curses followed the rattle. The muffled thump of bare feet on the concrete wall thumped, the vibration flowing through the wall.

"Fucking hell, shit!" A breaking voice called to the void. His voice was raspy and dry but still smooth.

Minutes ticked down, he hung in silence, attempting to block out the cries for help and curses. He could barely comprehend the situation he was in. He breath in a gulp of dusty air.

A heavy set of footsteps came into the narrow room. His skin crawled. With a droning whirl, the room sprang to life. Bare lightbulbs hung from reflective, beaded chains. Three in total. The florescent lights burned at his retinas.

As he had concluded, the room was narrow, a hall. Five barefoot boys hung in the same position as him. One boy was a messy blond with a stained, grey shirt. He hung at most, two inches off the packed dirt below. The boy who he assumed was cursing, had thick rimmed black glasses and tossed hair. He was pale and lanky, almost sickly. The other three looked normal, in plain shirts and jeans.

The footsteps stopped and a man with a head of greasy, faded yellow, cropped hair walked into view. His face was round, shoulders pushed back and chin to the sky. His steel soled combat boots were planted the width of his frame. A thin, camouflage jacket hugged his torso. Thick leather, fingerless gloves wrapped his hands, just like the figures from before. In his hands were six silver dog tags glinting in the light. He stuck his hip out and put his hands on his hips. He scanned down the line.

"Good evenin', boys. I am Commander Way. You will address me as such," Moving his hands to behind his back, he stepped towards the boys against the wall. His voice was crisp, rehearsed. His voice was thick with New Jersey punch. He talked only with the side of his pale lips. He stopped right in front of the with the thick glasses, he leaned forward, watching as the boy's eyes grew wide. "You're a fighter aren't, ya?" 

"I have to be." The boy muttered, forcing his voice not to shake.

"You'll do just fine here, then." Commander Way strutted back to his place under the middle hanging light. "Now," He clicked his tongue as he scanned over the line of boys again. "You either allow us to give you a chance at a better life or ya leave in a bodybag. All of you with be trained in the art disguising yourself, combat, and weaponry. After training, you'll be sent out to take care of some high profile figure's kids."

"You sick bastard!" The boy with the glasses sneered, jerking forward. 

The commander clicked his tongue again, "You won't feel the pain of your broken household anymore." The stopped struggling.

He as at a loss for words. The boy's lips parted as he choked down a gasp. He hung there by his wrists, his body rocking back and forth. He was here because no one would report his absence. He was an easy target, they all were. He was now a tool, a weapon even.

"I know it's a lot to take in, boys," The man pulled something shiny from his back pocket, it clicked. A gun. He took in a breath of tainted air. His lungs were heavy. "but it's time to make your choice." He raised the lethal weapon to the air. "Yes or no?" The question hung i the air.

Three yeses and three noes bounced off the walls caging them in. Way raised the gun to head level. In three quick motions, the three plainly dressed boys hung limply. Crimson dripped in staggering patterns below the lifeless feet. 

He only bit his tongue, eyes cloudy with tears.

"Shame, first deaths in years." Way walked the boy with the glasses, taking one of the dog tags from his leather bond hands. He placed it over the boy's head. "These have tracking devices in them. You are to wear them at all times or you will be punished. These are your new names. Forget everything about the past." He was stern, "Welcome, 17." he moved to the shaking blond boy and placed a dog tag on his neck. "19," He moved to the next, and last living boy. The chain was chilly, he shivered. He looked down at the chain, a silver 21 pressed into the metal. "And welcome, 21."


	2. two

Small.

The room 21 was led to was small, only a bed with a metal frame and grey sheets. He would touch both walls if he stretched his arms out. At least there was carpet here and not only dirt and dust. The front of his door had a whiteboard on it. Commander Way took a marker to it and wrote his new identity in large, black, bold handwriting. The textured walls were bumpy and coated with a pale blue. His eyes floated to the corner. A small, blinking red circle was glued to his frame. Above the frame of his new bed was a painted over speaker. The frame of it was chipping and flaking of bits of blue. One of Way's firm hands cupped his shoulder, 21 only stared blankly ahead at the blank wall.

"Get some rest, kid. We'll wake ya up at six for breakfast and a new change of clothes." Way spoke with fierce edge. He patted the younger's shoulder and left the door frame. The steel door clicked into place and 21 was thrown into darkness. 

This was a chance, his one chance to have a better life. No more broken glasses and death threats. He wouldn't hear the buzz of the antenna television at midnight in the trailer. 

21 sighed, he pulled himself onto the bed. It was firm, he felt supported. The stuffing cupped his body. The pillow under his tuffs of hair was flat, the stained cover stinging his nostrils with a strong stench of bleach. His body turned to the wall, hands curled into fists next to his head. His bare feet rubbed against the fresh sheets. A small, weak smile tugged at his lips. 

He didn't remember when he fell asleep, but he peeled open his eyelids to harsh lighting and ugly cream popcorn ceiling. His arms groaned in protest as he stretched, strained muscles warned him to stay still. Let air flow into his lungs, it was less musty than the previous room he was in. He still felt as trapped as the night before. The walls loomed over him, shadowy teeth snarling at him. 

He jumped as static bounced through the room. The voice of a younger man crackled through the speaker above. 21 pushed his sore upper limbs upwards along with his upper body, his head was heavy.

"Morning, everyone! We have three new recruits joining us today: 17, 19, and 21. Enjoy another day at VESSEL!" The voice faded with cracks of static and a sharp click. The voice was higher than Commander Way's but still held the rehearsed and Jersey tone of his. 

Vessel, that's what this operation was called. He could only wonder what this place was a vessel for or if they were carrying some message. 

Just like the night before, the metallic door clicked. But this time, it swung open with the whine of an engine. The hall before him was an empty, barren. Small and square grey tiles lined each square inch of the wall from floor to ceiling. It was a cool, bluish grey. It felt professional, just like Commander Way. The color refected his harsh presence. 

21 swung his legs over his mattress and jumbled sheets. He stood on planted feet and walked to where the carpet met polished tile. 

Commander Way walked to his door. He was followed by the two other surviving boys: the blond- 17, and the skinny boy with the glasses- 19. 19 had his bony arms crossed against his chest, a scowl made of plump lips was the centerpiece of his face. The blond boy played with the hem of his red and brown splattered shirt with twitching fingers. 

"I'm taking you three to the cafeteria. Then I'll get Commander Armstrong to get your uniforms and go over the rules before your first training session." Way spoke, the leather bond hands on his hips again. 

21 followed the small moving mass if bodies down the hallway, running his fingers up and down over his dog tag. 

17 shook, his oversized shirt shaking and moving in his twitching motions. His strawberry kissed hair was a pile of bed head, a tangled rats' nest. 

It took only about thirty seconds to reach two metal doors with foggy glass panels in them. With both hands, Way pushed the doors open and strutted through with shaking hips.

The cafeteria had a sheet of stainless metal for the floor, making the three barefoot boys jump in surprise. The walls were reflective panels of polished crimson. It was quiet, only hushed whispers of conversations floating through the air. An open kitchen stood on the far wall. It was complete with more stainless steel appliances lining the wall behind a cut out window. It looked like his old highschool cafeteria, complete with the long plastic benches attached to tables. But instead of noisy, horny teens, mostly adults armed with pistols and knives sat with shoulders back and stuck up smiles. 

But on the far left, next to a rumbling dishwasher and flowing water covered by a metal slot, were two boys his age. One brunet and the other with a straight ironed head of faded electric blue. The table they sat at was colored an obnoxious shade of  neon yellow. The rest were black. 

Way pointed to the table, "You're to sit there a every meal. Understand?" The boys nodded silently, Way frowned, "Your Superiors expect you to say 'yes sir' after every question." Way's eyes narrowed in displeasure.

"Yes, sir." The boys muttered at vary times.

"We'll work on it." Way motioned with his arm for them to follow. He turned his back to the group of nervous boys as the walked to the yellow table. When the boys gave the for attention, they bowed their heads at way, eyes hooked to his combat boots.

"10, 4. Here's the new recruits. Treat them as family and and don't tell them the rules just yet, 'kay?" Way tapped his foot as he spoke.

"Yes, sir." The boys' voices were crisp and clear, conditioned. 

The three timid boys would learn to be like them.


	3. three

Silent. 

No one at the table said a word. 10 or 'Spencer" as he whispered, ate quickly and stood up soon after. He put his bowl up and returned with three bowls of oatmeal. He sat them in front of each new boy.

"Good luck." He muttered with a blank face and he headed off the door he came from. The back of his light grey shirt had 'VESSEL' in bold, dark grey blocky letters. A small, sharpie marked his number under the letters. 4's outfit was the same: grey shirt with lettering on the back, black jeans, (10 was wearing shorts of the same color) and white canvas shoes. 21 curled in on himself. He was out of place with his deep red sweatshirt and dirtied blue jeans. 17 was doing the same, his bare feet were on the bench, bare arms were warped around his knees. 19 took a small bite of the watery, unseasoned oatmeal in front him. With closed eyes, he spit it back out, drool running down his chin. 

"That's fucking nasty!" 19 grabbed, 4's napkin from across the plastic table and wiped away the silva. Throwing the napkin across the table, back to the previous owner and chuckled. 

"You get used to it." 4 muttered, elbowing the soggy napkin off of the table.

"Is that what they always serve?" For the first time in his twenty four hours in VESSEL, 17 spoke. His voice was deep and strong compared to his small frame. 21 followed his eyes, they took everything in. They took in the colorful chosen outfits of the adults, the large platters of desirable food in front of them. The eyes shifted to the bowl of grey mush lying untouched on the table. 

The electric blue boy hummed in response, "We're the bottom of the food chain."

"I was top of the food chain at my school." 19 scoffed.

"Forget that, that's not who you are." The other boy spoke lowly, as if he knew from experience. He played with his dog tag, moving it up and down. He probably did know.

"Bullshit."

21 watched the exchange quietly, fiddling with the lint in his pocket.

Later on, they three new arrivals had been ushered into room in there part of the building. A raven haired man with a scowl hand each boy a thing pile of clothes.

"Landry is every Thursday. Bathroom's down the hall, change and come back with your old clothes." The man pointed to the door and the boys scuttled out with bowed heads. 

The hallway was short, only about ten rooms with labled whiteboards and the few others left unmarked. At the end of the cold hallways was a tiled wall that led to bathroom stalls.

Once 21 had exited the stall with dirtied and bloodied clothing balled up in his fist. In the mirror was a cold reflection of what his once was. His tanned wrists were wrapped in reddish cloth. Way had bandaged his raw wrists with delicate fingers after he was firmly on the ground, the enter time 21 flinched and whispered 'thanks yous' whenever he could. His big doe eyes were tainted with the sight of innocent blood. His wide shoulders were now covered in a icey grey, just like the souls of the adults around him. His dark hair was greasy and flat, sticking to his forehead. He was already a shell of who Tyler Joseph was. 

Only a shell. A cracking, chipping shell being torn away by weather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was short, I'm sorry


	4. four

Sticky.

21 was sticky with sweat, droplets coated his forehead and washed the ends of his hair. His heart was thumping against his ribcage, sending rattles down his spine. It thundered in his ears.

His wrapped fists pounded into the the tightly pulled leather hug from the rafters. His exposed knees were always bent, quickly stepping around the object. His head moved with his fists as the swung the object. His head stayed to the side as the landed another hook. Feet shuffled on the mat, punched the leather again. The boy grunted at every punch he landed.

He was held in by a wall of darkness, a single wire wrapped bulb above him. The room was covered in blood, sweat, and dust. Matte grey weights sat on a metal in the darkened corner. Ropes hung on the wall in front of him, and a treadmill was in the corner opposite to him.

Suddenly, with the click of the metallic door and a plastic flick, the florescent lights hummed to life. The boy fell out of form, panting. His shoulders curled in as his hands gripped his shaking knees.

"You need to give yourself a break," 19's - Brendon's voice - filled the small gym. Brendon had changed in his time at VESSEL. He was still thin as stick, but ate enough. His old, bent, thick framed glasses were replaced with wire thin silver frames. He leaned his bones against the closed door, arms folded over his chest, "You're gonna hurt yourself." His voice was low, warning, but still flowing with the usual thick honey, "Thinkin' again?"

21 only nodded, lowering his body to level with mat. Once he lied down, he spread his limbs out. "Yeah, I need to stop thinking about everything before this."

"We're not better off here in every area."

21 only sighed, staring at the thick bars holding up the lower level. "But we have people who care, we're not ignored or fucking abused here!" 21 pulled his upper half up, arms bent behind him.

"10's worried. You've been cooped up here all week."

"Armstrong's giving me my first mission on Friday." The sentence was shaky, though his face was steel cold.

19's arms fell to his side, his plump lips fell slightly apart, before sealing his jaw tight, "How long will you be out of base?" His eyes softened.

"He told me a month." 21 chokes back the lump in his throat. 19- Brendon stepped closer, lowering to 21's level. He put a bony hand on the small of his back.

"Are there mics in here?" Brendon whispered, staring at the blank wall.

"Only cameras." 21's voice was low, automatic. They would have to act brotherly, nothing more.

"What about us and our thing?" Brendon's voice wavered.

"He's just a bratty sixteen year old, like us. He's nothing, B. I promise. It's just a job. It'll only go to kissing. No sex, I'll save you that."

"You need to promise me that. I love what we have. That'll finish it." He was firm, eyes dark.

21 hid his tears, "I know, Bren."

"No, Tyler, fuckin' promise me!" Brendon stood firm on his feet, arms again crossed. 21- Tyler stood up as well. He moved to the corner and unwrapped his hands. He set the the cloth over the weights and picked up his water bottle from the floor next to the rack. He took a swig from the bottle.

"I'm sorry, I can't promise that. I have to do anything to keep him distracted."

"I love you, but I'm scared." Brendon returned to the door. "I want to be with you, but you can't just sell your body like this!"

"I know, I know! But I don't have a damn choice in this!" Tyler's face was a mess of red and shine.

Brendon- 19- opened the door, "I'll see you at training." He left.

21 was alone in blinding solitude.


	5. five

Tense.

Training that day was covered in a tense atmosphere. 19 would turn his attention away from the whiteboard to sneak cold glances at 21. 21's legs shook through the lesson. His brain was focused on what the night would bring, if 19 would break off their nights in the janitor's closet. Only 19's closest friend, 10, new about their intimate relationship. The first night they had met in that small space, 19 had whispered to 10 about the event at breakfast the next morning. They had sworn 10 into keeping their deadly secret unspoken. 21 brushed off the memory from months ago. He wasn't sure what month it was. Calendars in VESSEL were a rarity for him and his 'brothers'. Commander Way made sure to keep them mostly contained to their wing of the base. 21 and the others of his status were the only ones who weren't given the chance of a real life outside the tiled walls. Every night at nine, the metal doors to their small living quarters were locked. The metal door to their wing of the building was also locked, just incase. Then every morning at six am sharp, Commander Way's younger brother (Way called him VESSEL's secretary. But 21 knew he was much more than that.) would go over the PA system to wake the boys up. 

"It's very important to manipulate your target into thinking you're best friends or even more. They're kids just like you, just lacking skill. You know how they work." 21 snapped out of his mind and followed Armstrong's words of review. He was lucky that this was only review and not new material. He shook his head. 

His eyes trailed over to 17 who was following his notes in his bound notebook. The blond was always carrying around that notebook, writing in details about their Commanders. He was extremely detail focused. He remembered the small things liken the way 4 would adjust his neon blue bangs with his right hand or how 19 would wrinkle his eyebrows when he was laughing. 

The minutes droned on until Armstrong spoke again, "That's all for today. You're dismissed, but 21 stay seated." Armstrong's voice was strong, bouncing off the walls. With the crinkle of fabric, his friends filed out, leaving 21 alone with the Commander. 

He stared at the creamy top of his desk. Metal soled boots met the side of his vision. With a dull thud, a manila colored folder was thrown onto his desk. In a bright crimson box, "mission information" was stamped inside with the same color. 21 took a shallow, shaky breath. 

"Study that. You'll be heading to Joshua Iero's birthday party on Friday. Way will be supervising you. Good luck. We all have faith in you." 

With his head still tilted down, 21 scrambled out of the room and sprinted to the cafeteria. Lunch was always the loudest. Older agents sat at whatever table they chose and conversed with bright faces. Slowing down his pace, 21 walked to the yellow table in the corner, the stomps of his canvas shoes drowned out by the chatter. He slipped into the bench, gently placing the the folder on the table. He didn't know if he would be able to complete this.


End file.
